I got to speak at the lunch for our graduating seniors today. An honour I will always appreciate.

To the Class of 2026

A wise person once said, “When the sun goes down, bats come out.” In this essay… just kidding.

Last week, I was reading some writing, and one essay started with the line, “I believe in being unserious.” I don’t believe there is a better line to embody this graduating class, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Do I wish assignments had been turned in on time? Sure. Even within the same season they were due, would have been great. However, I learned a great lesson this term. Sometimes we need to step back and realize we won’t find our way if we don’t take time to see the sights. You guys did a lot of sightseeing this year.

I am honoured to be here and grateful for the opportunity to share some quick thoughts.

Looking out over this room, I am impressed by the unique qualities you possess, the journeys you are on, and the stories you continue to write. For some, your academic success and determination led you to graduate a full year early. Others achieved acclaim in rodeos across the province, securing scholarships. Some have excelled in music and the performing arts, captivating entire gyms or theatres. Others, more quietly, captivated a reader while he read work WAY PAST DUE.

We have creative minds who have built worlds with their words, robots with their hands, and some who even built flamethrowers. We have athletes who have excelled in sports of all types and gamers who have won their own championships. Some of you fit one of these categories, and others fit many.

For a group who often seems to live by the mantra “I believe in being unserious,” you have achieved so much, and you are only beginning your next chapter.

As I was thinking about writing this tribute, I wanted to bring in some poetry. I thought about Rudy Francisco or Phil Kaye and others we have read or listened to in the classroom, but in the end, I settled on you. This first one, I think, speaks to the journey you are on.

“Name Tag”

They gave me a name tag
That wasn’t mine.
Neat letters, sharp ink,
But nothing familiar.
Instead of my name,
It contained lost dreams—
dreams that I could not recognize.

Yes, I tried to wear it.
I tried the best I could.
Kept it clean,
pinned it on carefully,
but it just would not stay.
The more I try, the less it sticks.
It frays at the edges,
like a hard truth I can’t quite swallow.
Though it may not have fit me,
I dealt with it,
made it fit—
it had to.

They noticed my worn-out name tag
and, in a concerned tone,
offered another.
Again, unrecognizable.
This time, I refused,
left my chest blank.
No label, no lie.
Just empty space
for the name I have yet to write.

One of the things that I have always admired about this class is the absolute defiance you have shown toward being anything but your authentic selves. Whether it is writing about some mythical world or country songs about farting, you never waver from who you are. That is a strength I hope you carry with you on this journey.

Do not let people give you a name tag that does not fit. Take the time to figure it out for yourselves. Practice sightseeing.

I know there is pressure to figure things out. What do you want to be? When are you putting in your mission papers? What college or university are you going to? What do you want to do with the rest of your life? As if, at 18, you should know these things.

Every year at about this time, I read a mountain of projects (this year, maybe a few less), and that sense of doubt, panic, and urgency comes through. One of your classmates wrote this poem:

“Lost”

I am not lost
I am simply in the process of finding
Finding a purpose
Finding my talent
Finding recognition
Finding knowledge
And though I haven’t achieved my aim yet
I am not aimless
I am not lost

There is something profound in that sentence: “I am not lost; I am simply in the process of finding.” It is a shift in how we approach the unknowns in the journey. An opportunity to celebrate what we find along the way.

Our term project in English class asks you about legacy. Most years, students write that they are too young, too early in their journey, to have a legacy. But I want to assure you that you have left a mark on me, this school, and this community.

Whether it is the student who very well might be Prime Minister one day, the pilot, the farmer carrying on his family legacy, the rugby players sharing tales of injury while proving their dominance year after year, the mechanic-in-waiting building and taking apart car engines and bringing new life to old broken-down cars, or the student handling the hardest things in their own life that no one knows about with incredible grace, you all have a story. Another classmate wrote a poem I wanted to share with you:

“Permanent Marker”

I want to be written in permanent marker,
bleeding through the pages of a well-kept diary.

I want my memory tattooed on every heart
I touch,
so even absence still remembers me.

Let my impacts smudge,
allow my colours to run.

I want to be remembered in the smallest of traces,
the kind of silence that fills conversations,
the quiet no one dares to speak.

They try to erase what time forgets,
but ink does not forget so easily.
It stains what it touches.

My ink will leave its mark—
a sentence never crossed out,
a kind of permanence that lasts.

My story will spill beyond the edges,
leaking into places I was never meant to stay.

For if inked, I will never fully fade.

To this entirely unserious Class of 2026, I assure you that, even just in my own story, your ink will never fade. The impact you have had on me as a teacher and the lessons I have learned over the years working with you have made me a better teacher.

I am so grateful for our time together and for the opportunity to speak with you all today.

As a final thought, a student reminded me in a kind note that education is about so much more than academics—that it is about humanity. I hope that, as you get ready to walk across the gym and celebrate this achievement, you can remember that.

Your accomplishments in the classroom are admirable, but it is who you are that will ultimately be remembered.

Let your stories spill beyond the edges.

Thank you, and good luck with the next chapter of your stories.